But since "requital" means to respond in kind (whether that response be a reward or a punishment), a number of characters are going to get exactly what they have coming in both senses of the word. And that winds up being a good thing. 
PART NINE—REQUITAL
One year later
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN
June 5, 1950, 0815 hours
Eagle Rock Military Base
"God, these are gorgeous," Sergeant Keyser breathed, carefully cradling the box full of control crystals as Jaddo plucked another out of the box. "So many different colors, and they're all faceted—they look like jewels."
" 'Jewels'?"
"Precious stones," Keyser clarified. "Rare stones that are cut and polished to be used in jewelry."
And that would explain the missing key, Jaddo thought as he slid a blue crystal into one of the power distribution panels. He and Keyser were deep in the bowels of the ship, attempting to repair the ship's systems now that they had finished with the hull. Keyser had had a devil of a time rounding up the various control crystals, and now Jaddo knew why: If the humans felt they resembled something of value on their world, many had probably been appropriated by those of sufficient rank to do so with impunity. Many crystals were damaged, most likely in the crash, and many were still missing, most notably the key, a large clear crystal which was essential for the full operation of the ship. But no matter; there were enough here and whole to accomplish his goal of making the communications console on the bridge operational, giving them a secure, non-traceable method of contacting home. Assuming his efforts had been successful, he had only to route enough power to the control room and then contrive to be alone, an easier task now that the repairs had become more technical. Before, there had been a sizeable team of engineers helping to seal the various hull breaches; those repairs were now complete and looking quite good, detectable only upon close examination. The skill needed to repair the power conduits and the engine was beyond virtually every human but Keyser, so Jaddo now found himself either alone with Keyser or simply alone, with only the still stringent security detail outside the ship and a single guard inside. Contacting home now looked like a virtual certainty, and he'd be sure to tell Brivari that this very evening.
Tell Brivari. Jaddo shook his head at the irony of that notion as he slid another crystal, a red one this time, into the power grid. He had actually seen Brivari only twice since that welcome day last spring when he had unexpectedly returned after finishing off the last of the hunters. In between those rare visits, conversation had been managed by Jaddo talking to the Healer and the Healer talking to Brivari on her trips outside the compound, where they could easily meet. The Healer had become so adept at this mode of communication that she had begun to mimic Brivari's tone, an annoying habit if ever there was one. One of the few advantages of this conversation by relay was that he had been spared the brunt of Brivari's usual impatience and tunnel vision, especially in the very beginning when, after recovering from his shock at seeing Brivari again after so long, Jaddo had made one simple request: "Don't rescue me."
Or rather, "don't rescue me yet." The repairs on their ship had gone better than Jaddo could ever have expected, raising the odds of it being genuinely useful to them. As the hull repairs were completed and more and more of the control crystals were found, the prospect of repairing at the least the communications array, if not the engine itself, became entirely possible....assuming he remained captive, that is. Once free, he would lose his access to the ship along with his access to Keyser, who had proven not only helpful at speeding the repairs along but crucial to the necessary task of rounding up the control crystals. With the humans still agog over anything to do with the ship, Jaddo felt it safe to stay until all possible repairs had been completed before making his escape. Brivari had been nothing less than stupefied by this request, having seen the advantage of Jaddo spending most of the day in the still guarded but much more accessible hangar which boasted several avenues for exit as opposed to having to fight one's way out of the basement of the compound. It had taken all of Jaddo's powers of persuasion and a good deal of the Healer's as well to convince Brivari to wait.
"That's the last one," Jaddo said, having fitted a green crystal into the power grid.
"So now it works?" Keyser asked hopefully, caressing the engine with one hand.
"Not yet. First we have to figure out exactly what's wrong with it. Stay here while I go to the control room and see if the diagnostic panel is working."
Jaddo half crouched, half crept through the ship's circular hallway until he reached the control room. Unbeknownst to Keyser, he had routed most of the power to the communications console, and now it glowed encouragingly, appearing fully functional.
"How's it going?" Keyser's voice came over the repaired comm systems.
"I'm checking the engine diagnostics now," Jaddo lied.
"Hurry," Keyser urged. "I would love to see this baby up and running!"
Jaddo shook his head in disbelief as he instructed the communications console to search for available Antarian frequencies. The tendency of humans to refer to their machines as either females or infants had always escaped him, not to mention the fact that getting that "baby" up and running would do no good; one need very long fingers to operate the most critical ship systems. Just as soon as he declared the ship finished, he would be asked to fly it, and even if repairs made that possible, the humans would then have to do the one thing they would never do—stop the serum and allow him to shift. At that point, his usefulness would likely have run out and his life would be in danger. Which is why the timing of this endeavor would be tricky, and why Brivari had been fretting more and more as the months went by, knowing that there would be little leeway between the end of the repairs and the time when escape would become a necessity.
The console blinked, indicating it had finished its search. Quickly Jaddo flipped through the available frequencies and was delighted to find several private to the royal family, along with more belonging to their allies. Now it was just a matter of deciding whom to contact and what to say, as time would be short whenever that happened.
"Mr. Doe?" Keyser called over the comm. "What did you find? Do you think it will work?"
"Oh, yes," Jaddo answered with satisfaction. "I think it will work nicely."
******************************************************
Copper Summit, Arizona
"Are you absolutely positive?" Malik demanded. "I know I heard Orlon come down here last night."
"I'm telling you, there are no new transmissions," Amar said in exasperation, plopping the communicator down on his workbench in the basement chamber. "I checked, double-checked, and triple-checked."
"So why was Orlon down here?"
"How should I know?" Amar said irritably. "Could have been any number of different reasons. As far as I can tell, Orlon hasn't had any conversations with Athenor since the one we overheard last year."
"Don't you mean 'Nicholas'?" Malik said sarcastically. "I can't for the life of me figure out why Khivar would send his second in command all the way out here."
"Maybe as punishment?" Amar suggested. "We know Khivar is furious that the Royals were killed. Perhaps he wants 'Nicholas' to correct that mistake."
Malik snorted softly as he heaved himself into a nearby chair. "That was no mistake. He ordered them killed, or all of them but Vilandra, anyway. You did make a copy of that transmission where he admitted that, didn't you?"
"Naturally," Amar said. "That's a tasty little nugget that might come in handy in the future. But right now, nothing's happening: Orlon hasn't made any more incriminating phone calls, the Argilians aren't here yet, Jaddo's locked up, and Brivari's still on the loose. Everything's in a holding pattern, including us, and if we're smart, we'll stay that way."
Malik sighed, staring at the basement ceiling. Amar had a point; given the power plays that were obviously going on, it was best to simply keep quiet, lay low, and not make any moves that would register on the radar of the wrong people....whoever those "wrong people" turned out to be. Even overhearing Orlon's testy communication with Athenor and the latter's damning admission wasn't as clear cut as it had first appeared. Further inspection of the communicator that Orlon had used since his arrival on Earth had yielded nothing of interest, only infrequent calls to Khivar laced with news they'd already heard. Amar had argued that Orlon's plea to Athenor to send more hunters may have just been a case of him trying to secure more from another source because he didn't want to admit to Khivar that the first set of hunters was dead.
But Malik thought otherwise. "I put you where you are, and I'll get you where want to be," Orlon had said. That was every bit as damning a statement as Athenor's announcement that he'd ordered the deaths of the royals, to Malik's way of thinking. "What's Orlon up to?" he said, still fretting. "What's in this for him?"
"Oh, good Lord, not this again," Amar grumbled. "Honestly, you used to call me paranoid—"
"Because you are," Malik said bluntly.
"—and now listen to you. I thought we went over this. We don't know that he's 'up to' anything."
"Then why did he say he didn't work for Khivar?" Malik asked. "And what did he mean about having put Athenor where he was?"
"How should I know?" Amar retorted. "Maybe Orlon got Athenor his post as Khivar's second. We weren't there at the time, so we wouldn't know."
"Or maybe they're planning to kill Khivar and put Athenor on the throne," Malik said.
"Don't even say things like that out loud," Amar warned.
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you so timid?"
"Since when are you so careless?" Amar countered, lowering his voice. "Look, you already know what's in this for Orlon—the same thing everyone wants: Power. There's always been a power struggle for the throne on our world—"
"Except with Zan," Malik reminded him.
"—and history is probably repeating itself," Amar finished, ignoring him. "I'll bet Orlon is just playing both ends against the middle, making certain he's in good with whoever may win. It would be a smart move....and antagonizing the one who may wind up the new king's warder would be a bad one. Keep that in mind the next time you decide to shoot your mouth off."
"So now you're a political advisor?" Malik said dryly. "You, of all people. I had no idea you were so talented."
"Just don't do anything stupid," Amar said. "See how it falls out and who's left standing, and then we'll decide what to do."
"Assuming we're left standing," Malik grumbled.
"If anyone falls, it won't be us," Amar said firmly. "If Orlon doesn't manage to capture a Warder or find the hybrids, he's the one who will fall out of favor with anyone angling for the throne."
Good, Malik thought privately. Another year had passed with them no closer to apprehending Brivari or "freeing" Jaddo. Amar, Orlon, and Marana had spent a great deal of time at the military base watching for Brivari and trying to establish a pattern for his visits or find out where he was hiding, all without success. Remaining unsuccessful was now more important than ever because a success for Orlon meant success for whoever he supported; if that turned out to be Athenor, that meant success for a ruthless man who hated Covari. Malik could think of no worse hands into which either the hybrids or his own people could fall. They'd be better off with the humans.
"Check again," Malik said, pushing the communicator toward Amar.
Amar's exasperated reply was cut off as the door to the lower basement level opened and Marana entered the room, her face a mask of concern. "I need both of you to come downstairs right away."
******************************************************
Proctor residence
"More coffee?" Emily asked David.
"No, I'm fine thanks," David answered, refolding his newspaper and setting it down beside his breakfast plate.
"You almost done there?" Emily asked Dee, who was busily shoveling spoonfuls of cereal.
"Yup," Dee nodded after she'd swallowed.
"You know you won't be able to get up this late next year when you're in junior high," Emily said as she buttered her toast.
"I hate getting up early," Dee said, wrinkling her nose.
"Can't say I'm fond of it either," Emily sighed. "But I'm afraid we're stuck with it. Did you finish all those vocabulary words?"
"All thirty of them," Dee said, "with definitions and sentences for each one. And my math," she added with less enthusiasm. "I don't see why I have to know math. Lawyers don't do math."
"What if you decide not to be a lawyer?" David asked. "You might find you need math if you do something else."
"I'm going to be a lawyer," Dee said confidently. "I've decided, and that's that."
David and Emily exchanged glances. Dee's vocal insistence on going to college for something other than her "Mrs." degree had caused chatter in town. Some applauded her career aspirations as a model of modern American womanhood; others found the notion of a woman as a lawyer improper, something which made Dee want it more than ever. So far, David and Emily had refrained from pointing out to her that the price of college was out of their league and had defused the subject with others by noting that, as a sixth-grader, Dee was far too young to pick a career.
"Okay, so you've decided," Emily said lightly. "Anything interesting in the paper?" she asked David.
"Just more about President Truman's hydrogen bomb project."
"Wonderful," Emily deadpanned. "Just what this world needs—more bombs. Honestly, everyone's so afraid of Communists, they're losing their marbles. First the Hollywood Ten, then that Senator McCarthy accusing the State Department of being infiltrated by Communists, and now the President wants a new bomb. What's next?"
"Everyone's really scared now that China has fallen to the Communists," David said.
"What's the 'Hollywood Ten'?" Dee asked, carrying her cereal bowl over to the sink.
"Ten people from the movie industry who were put in jail for being Communists even though no one could prove that," Emily answered in disgust. "And I worry that's only the beginning."
"So how'd they put them in jail if there wasn't any evidence?" Dee asked.
"That depends on what you call 'evidence'," David said. "A government committee decided that if anyone had so much as worked with or spoken to a known Communist, or had any ties at all to a Communist organization, that made them Communists. They didn't have any proof that these people had done anything wrong; many times, all they had was finger-pointing by other people who had been threatened with imprisonment if they didn't name names. It's crazy."
"It's really frightening that can happen here," Emily said, shaking her head. "After all we just went through fighting a war against a tyrant, our own government turns around and throws people in jail just because they talked to a Communist at a party five years ago."
Dee stopped rinsing out her cereal bowl. "And you think that's wrong?"
"Of course it's wrong," Emily answered. "They can't call people guilty just because they have some kind of business relationship with a communist, or even if someone agrees with Communist philosophy. This is a free country, and people are entitled to their opinions."
"If you feel that way, then why did you throw Brivari out?"
Emily's eyebrows rose, her toast halfway to her mouth. Across the table, David closed his eyes and sighed.
"That was different," Emily said firmly.
"Doesn't sound different to me," Dee said with an edge to her voice. "Brivari wasn't the one who decided to come here—that was the king. Brivari was a servant; he couldn't stop it. And don't tell me that he agreed with it, because you said that just agreeing with Communists doesn't make someone guilty. So Brivari agreeing with what the king did doesn't make him guilty either." Dee set her bowl down in the drainer with a plop. "Do you know what one of my vocabulary words was, Mama? It was 'hypocrite'. I had to look it up. Maybe you should too."
David watched Emily lean wearily on her hands as Dee headed upstairs to brush her teeth, not stomping like she used to but walking normally, projecting a wall of iciness as deep as any iceberg. This is what things had been like since last year when Emily had ordered Brivari out of their house. After a couple of weeks of not speaking to her mother, Dee had settled into a pattern of normalcy punctuated by bursts of arctic chill whenever the subject of the aliens arose, her anger less noisy, but colder and more focused. In many ways, the old tantrum-style upsets had been preferable to these biting, more mature altercations where she hammered her mother on one point or another with the skill of the lawyer she wanted to become.
"It's been awhile this time," David said quietly. "A couple of months, at least. I was hoping she'd finally let it go."
" 'Let it go'?" Emily echoed. "Our daughter, let something 'go'? You're kidding, right? I swear, this is some kind of divine retribution for me being so stubborn all my life." She sat back in her chair, arms crossed, fingers tapping on her elbows. "How could she compare people thrown in jail with no evidence to what happened with Brivari? He admitted it! I asked him, and he admitted it, and right in front of her, no less! And admitted to you that he'd do it all over again if he had to."
"And he didn't have to," David said. "He could easily have lied to you. To both of us."
"Good for him," Emily said sharply. "What they did was still wrong."
"I know," David agreed. "I'm just pointing out that he respected us enough not to lie to us."
"You're still willing to write this off, aren't you?" Emily demanded. "All because of that story he told you about the king helping his people."
"I doubt it was a 'story," David said. "It fits what we already know, like their never having been children and their funeral rites. It even fits what Orlon said."
"I don't care what it fits with, they were still wrong!" Emily insisted. "We should never have told Dee that sob story. Now she'll never leave this alone."
"Of course we should have told her," David said evenly. "It's part of the picture, and one can't make a valid judgment with an incomplete picture."
"So you're coming down on Brivari's side," Emily said flatly.
"No. I'm saying that I understand his point of view," David said carefully, having still not rendered an official opinion on the subject and seeing no need to—with his wife and daughter locked in periodic mortal combat over the issue, it helped to have an at least ostensibly neutral referee. "I can understand his viewpoint without agreeing with him, just like those communist sympathizers you mentioned shouldn't be automatically condemned as having committed treason for holding an opinion."
"You sound just like Dee," Emily said sourly. "Or rather, she sounds just like you. At least she comes by it honestly."
David sighed and reached for more coffee. "I'm not trying to argue with you, Em. It's just that we seem to be looking backwards when I think we should be looking forwards. What's done is done; we can't undo it. What we should be concerned about is the future. According to Brivari, the king's experiments are over, but this Khivar who stole the king's throne will begin conducting the exact same kind of experiments if he stays in power. So shouldn't we be working against Khivar by helping his enemies? As in Brivari?"
"How do we know Brivari's telling the truth about that?" Emily asked. "I know, I know—we don't know if Orlon was telling the truth either, and he's unlikely to admit that his boss wants to do exactly the same thing. That's just it—we don't have enough information or any neutral party to consult. So I say we avoid making things worse by helping neither of them."
"But what if we are making things worse by not helping?" David pressed. "I wish I could find Malik and see what he thinks about all of this. He defected, but now he's trying to help the old regime, and that right there should tell us something. I'd love to know what changed his mind."
"There's no guarantee he'd tell us the truth either," Emily said, rising from her chair and taking her plate to the sink, sliding her uneaten toast into the trash on her way there. Boxing matches with Dee always ruined her appetite.
"No," David agreed. "But it's possible that they're all telling the truth, just from different perspectives."
" 'Perspectives'?" Emily echoed. "David, everyone has a 'perspective'. Even Hitler had a 'perspective'. Right now, the only 'perspective' I'm the least bit interested in is the one that says that kidnapping people of any age and experimenting on them against their will is wrong. Period. End of discussion."
"Of course it's wrong," David said patiently. "I just think that the more perspectives we get, the clearer the picture will be."
"I don't need a clearer picture," Emily argued. "Brivari made everything very, very clear, too clear, even. Some things are always wrong no matter what reasons people conjure to excuse them. Even my own daughter."
David set his coffee cup down. "I said I wasn't trying to argue with you, and I meant that," he said gently. "I'm just speculating out loud. And don't worry about Dee—she can't stay mad forever."
"Sure she can," Emily sighed. "She's my daughter."
******************************************************
Copper Summit, Arizona
"Were you two messing with Orlon's communicator again?" Marana asked as Malik and Amar followed her into the lower chamber. "I don't see what the big deal is. Alliances are shifting so quickly back home that you can never tell who's working with whom."
"Tell that to him," Amar groused, throwing a dark look Malik's way. "He's the one all high and mighty about it."
"Is it so bad that I want to know who's pulling Orlon's strings?" Malik demanded.
"The point is that if I walked in on you, Orlon could too," Marana said. "Besides, we have bigger problems," she added, stopping in front of an empty tank beside which were arrayed her paltry collection of diagnostic materials, most of them human. If only she'd known they would be here so long and have this many problems; this was supposed to have been a simple retrieval mission that had turned into something far different.
"I take it we lost another one?" Amar said quietly.
"Yes," Marana said, "and in the same way."
All three of them stared at the tank dejectedly. Every single emergent Covari had died, most before they'd fully emerged, with the exception of that first one that had tried—and failed—to shift. They'd lost many more in the past several months; only about a third of the original number remained, and no one had much hope for those. As upset as Marana was over this, no one was more upset than Amar. The prospect of Covari not bound to the king was what had made him willing to do business with Khivar in the first place.
"They're all going to die, aren't they?" Malik whispered.
"If they all die, then Khivar will try again," Amar insisted. "That was our price. We did the job we were hired for—hell, we've done a lot more than that—and I promise you, we will be paid."
"This time is different," Marana said. "This time, I know why it died. I still haven't managed to run tests on any of them before they disintegrate because I spend too much of my time hunting someone who can't be caught, so out of sheer frustration, I ran tests on the gestational fluid."
"You already tried that, and didn't find anything," Amar said.
"I found something this time," Marana said grimly. "Look."
"Good Lord," Amar muttered, staring at the primitive human "microscope" she was gesturing toward. "What could you possibly learn from that?"
"Enough. Look."
Sighing, Amar bent his eye to the eyepiece....and immediately dropped his attitude. "Where in hell did that come from?"
"What?" Malik demanded, pushing Amar away and looking himself. "What is this? What am I looking at?"
"It's mercury," Marana said, "or dimethylmercury, to be more precise. Mercury is a neurotoxin in any form, and this form is particularly nasty. I found it in the gestational fluid of this tank."
"Let me guess," Amar said, working up a head of steam. "You've decided this is my fault, haven't you? Look, all of this equipment came from home, but maybe that doesn't help when it's set up on a backward rock that still has lots of toxic substances in their industrial waste, which is dumped just about anywhere it's convenient to dump it. And—"
"You weren't listening," Marana interrupted. "I said I found it in this tank and only this tank. This isn't system wide—it's very specific. I've tested all the other tanks, and they're clean."
"So...how did mercury get into only one tank?" Malik asked.
"We went over this entire system with a fine-toothed comb when the first tank malfunctioned," Amar said in exasperation, "so if you're planning on blaming me for this too, forget it!"
"I'm not blaming you," Marana insisted. "Look, I know we don't get along—we never have. But we both have one thing in common: We want the emergents to live. I've figured out what's killing them; now I need you to figure out how this stuff got into only this tank even though they're all connected by the same filtration system and it should have tripped the sensors. After you do that, we can go right back to loathing each other, but right now, we need to call a truce."
"Okay," Amar said after a moment, wary but calmer. "To answer your question, there is no way for any substance to find its way into only one tank."
"Sure there is," Malik said suddenly.
Marana and Amar stared at him. "How?" Marana asked.
"Someone could have put it there deliberately."
"Deliberately?" Marana echoed.
"Yes," Malik said heavily. "As in someone poisoned them."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 117 next Sunday.
Well, okay, not exactly. Pierce is Rosemary's baby! 
And someday he's going to have Pierce Jr. who will definitely qualify as Rosemary's baby.